Avatar of Light

by Dmitry Bilik

  “Boris brought back two A’s from school today. I haven’t seen him look so happy for quite a while. Now he’s sitting at home learning some poetry or other. Says he needs to bring his literature up to scratch. I asked him about the bully. Guess what he said? ‘Uncle Sergei had words with him and he won’t hassle me anymore.’ So this is just a small token of my gratitude.”

  “Oh come on, it was nothing, really. Would you like to come in for five minutes and we can crack open the bottle together?” I pointed at the cognac.

  “Oh, no, no. I need to get back and keep an eye on the kids. Lydia needs to go around to her friend’s. Polish it off yourself or with your girlfriend.”

  “Which girlfriend?”

  “Lydia saw you two together. So she just presumed...”

  Sure. His wife was a better source of information that any amount of old gossips and FSB agents. What kind of sex life was one supposed to have?

  “All right. Thanks anyway for the cognac.”

  “No, it’s you I should be thanking.”

  He shook my hand once again and headed off back home. I closed the door and studied the bottle. This wasn’t just any cheap shit. It required a special occasion. You wouldn’t use it as an accompaniment to borsch. Also, I wasn’t refined enough to follow the European habit of having my daily tipple at dinnertime[8]. The innuendo of the last couple of days had even put me off my beer. That was something I had to rectify.

  I didn’t even have the time to step away from the door before I heard more ringing. This time it was my cell. Mechanically I put the bottle away in my inventory and pulled out the phone.

  Now why wasn’t I surprised?

  “Coastal patrol service, how can I help you?” I said.

  “What service? Are you talking bullshit again? You’d better tell me now what you’ve decided about my proposition.”

  “Excuse me, but I only accept propositions from ladies on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

  “Sergei!” judging by Arts’ tone, my good mood hadn’t rubbed off on her.

  “What time are you gonna get going?” I asked.

  “I planned to leave at midday.”

  “How about 2 p.m.? I train in the morning.”

  “No problem.”

  “Will one day be enough for us to get everything done?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then make it two p.m. tomorrow at the Gatekeeper’s,” I hung up.

  Whistling a tune known only to me — because I’d only just come up with it — I headed to the kitchen, to sample the best borsch under the sun. And by the way, I needed to make sure I ate really well for tomorrow’s training session. With the Oracle, I couldn’t be too sure where my next meal would be coming from.

  Chapter 18

  GIVE A FOOL ENOUGH ROPE and he’ll hang himself. You couldn’t exactly call Bumpkin a complete idiot but I hadn’t thought about the effects of the herbs I’d given him only yesterday. The moment I woke up and came across my goblin in the corridor, I knew that it was the culprit.

  Bulging blood-shot eyes; jerky hand movements; the wet glue glistening on his fur. Talking about which, the entire apartment was covered in wallpaper paste: the floor, the walls, and especially the joints of the freshly-hung wallpaper. He must have wanted to surprise me last night. Unfortunately, his surprise turned out to be much stronger than he’d expected.

  “Bumpkin, what the hell’s happened here?”

  I wasn’t angry. I was just in a slight state of shock. Also, I was wondering how I was going to clean it all. He wasn’t in a fit state to do jack.

  “I’m just papering the walls, pasting and papering, pasting and papering, yeah. My work will last forever. Even when this whole house crumbles, your walls will still stand because it was me, Bumpkin, who hung the wallpaper! I still need to do the corners so that even if there’s a tornado, not a single scrap will come loose. I need to make some more paste.”

  He kept rattling on like a machine gun, constantly vanishing and reappearing. I very nearly had an epileptic fit with all his flickering.

  “Bumpkin, stand still! Stand still, I tell you! Give me the brush,” I grabbed him by the hand. “Okay, calm down now and follow me.”

  I took him to my yet-unmade bed and laid him on the sheets just as he was, glue and all, then covered him with a blanket. “Get some sleep.”

  “Master, I need to finish it off! I’m not tired...”

  “That’s out of the question. You’d better tell me if house goblins have a history of cardiovascular disease?”

  “What? Oh, no, no, there’re no heart problems among our bunch. We’re as hard as nails.”

  “Good. Now get some rest. That’s an order.”

  I went back to the corridor covered in glue and sighed. First of all, I took a few old T-shirts and wiped off all the surplus gunk from the wallpaper. Then I rinsed the bucket and started scrubbing the floors.

  A mere half-hour later, I was already standing under the shower, sweaty and tired. Not the best start to the day.

  Another surprise awaited me in the kitchen. Bumpkin had polished the whole kitchen with soda — all the forks, cups, plates and the table itself — but had clearly forgotten to wipe it off when he’d had the bright idea of starting to paper the walls. I freed up one of the cups from its soda captivity and made myself some tea. As I warmed up a couple of pies he’d recently made, I decided on no more homeopathics for Bumpkin. Apparently, they weren’t his thing.

  By then, my little helper was snoring away like a platoon of recruits after a ten-mile forced march. I had a quick warmup — not in order to bring my stats up but just to get my blood going — then headed off unhurriedly to my training session.

  I wouldn’t say I was in a defeatist mood. If you convince yourself you’re gonna lose, you most certainly will. But I had a pretty clear idea of my chances — or rather, how low they really were. Hunter was no spring chicken and could counter everything, including my admittedly cool development branch. I sifted through all the available options, trying to work out some kind of plan, only to dismiss them all as useless.

  Oh well. Looks like I’d have to ad lib as usual.

  Hunter was already waiting for me. I activated the Repelling Stone and lay it on the ground, then scooped up some snow and pressed it to my face. It helped. The cold meltwater trickled down my skin, perking me up no end. Everything around me appeared much clearer to me, much more real.

  You’ve taken the first step toward acquiring the Focus ability.

  “Well, let’s get on with it!” Hunter said without further ado.

  “Yep.”

  With a satisfied nod, he pulled a spear from his interface bag. It was simple without any bells or whistles, about eight foot long, topped with a long steel head. He deftly threw it from his right hand to his left, drew a figure of eight, flung it into the air, then caught it with his right hand again. The finesse with which he did so led me to conclude that he must have been ambidextrous.

  The funny thing was, this realization seemed to have come out of nowhere, which meant this was my Observation at work. The problem was, knowing that my opponent could use both hands in fighting didn’t make me feel any better.

  The Seeker is inviting you to compete Until First Blood. In case your life is threatened, your vital energy will be restored from the Seeker’s own stocks.

  I clicked “Yes” and swiped the message shut. Then I began to advance slowly, clutching my knife in my right hand. But the moment I was within his reach, my leg got whacked. I clenched my teeth against the burning pain but said nothing.

  End of combat

  “I thought you’d try to do something,” Hunter chuckled, casting a healing spell on me.

  “I didn’t get the chance,” I lied.

  As soon as he was done, we returned to our respective positions and started it all over again. Our second round was almost identical to the first one — the sole difference being, this time I received something for my trouble.

  Your Unarmore
d Combat skill has increased to level 7.

  “Shame about your pants,” Hunter said, winding me up. True, there were already two large holes in them. More work for Bumpkin.

  The Seeker is inviting you to compete Until First Blood...

  I started moving toward him again. This time I tried to dodge but still got another blow to my leg. More blood, more healing, more sarcasms from Hunter. I listened to them, smiling under my breath. Because I’d already noticed a tendency there. Hunter had not once aimed his spear high. He'd never targeted either my head or my arms, only ever hitting me on the legs. Oh well. It might just be the right moment to react to this.

  I allowed him to hit me one more time, just to lull him into a false sense of security. I gritted my teeth in pain, lamented the miserable state of my pants which were by then so ripped they were actually trendy, and staggered back to my feet.

  Now was the right time.

  The Seeker is inviting you to...

  I’d already checked the Katzbalger in my inventory several times, just to be sure. The tab that contained it was already open. Now the most important thing was to be able to whip it out quickly.

  I began moving forward in the confident gait of an idiot who never learns from his mistakes. Hunter withdrew his spear, preparing to thrust it at me. The muscles in his arms tensed; his veins bulged; the pupils of his watchful eyes contracted.

  Flourish didn’t actually work perfectly. I sensed it straight away. Possibly because I had the knife clutched in my right hand, so the spell had to escape through my left arm, exiting in the space between us and crashing onto Hunter — or rather, onto his protective sphere which flashed open, then disappeared again.

  Much to my surprise, Hunter didn’t cast a new protection. Just as well. Once again the tip of his spear pierced my long-suffering leg.

  End of combat

  Famous last words.

  [ ∞ ]

  A split second before he attacked, I took a step to the left, killing two birds with one stone: avoiding the blow and moving closer to Hunter. I took a brief swing with my right hand, then exploded into a fit of cussing because I’d missed! I’d missed!

  Immediately Hunter tugged his spear back. No, this wasn’t going to work. I had to start all over again.

  [ ∞ ]

  A step to the left, the whoosh of Hunter’s spear just over my ear, a blow from my moon-steel blade. Bingo! My knife sliced through the spear shaft like a sharp ax through a twig. The spearhead dropped to the ground, while a surprised Hunter was left to retrieve just the remaining shaft. And now he was well within my reach. I leapt forward, drawing my Katzbalger in flight — but once again it was met with an invisible barrier. That’s right, his Mantle was back in place. This was a job for my moon steel.

  Strangely enough, it failed to pierce the shield, either. How was it possible? I’d already removed Mantle, hadn’t I?

  A blow from the spear shaft to my temple staggered me. My vision swam. I only had one thought left: I had to remain focused.

  [ ∞ ]

  No idea what had prompted me to rewind time once again. Apparently, Hunter knew some way of activating Mantle without actually casting it. Which rendered all my valiant attempts pretty pointless. But my body had made the decision for me before my brain kicked in. I stepped forward, reducing his spear to a mere stick, then leaped at him and slashed with my Katzbalger. Immediately I ducked, feeling the spear shaft practically make a parting in my hair. I’d almost given up on my knife, seeing it glance off the blue barrier time and time again. Instead, I turned back to my Katzbalger and dealt a slashing blow without even swinging.

  Hunter dodged to one side and almost avoided it but I did manage to graze him. The blade ripped through his clothing like through rotten rags and left a small welt on his skin. It had hardly dealt him any damage but apparently, this was enough to provoke a new system message:

  Your Short Blades skill has increased to level 13.

  You’ve reached level 9.

  End of combat. You’ve won!

  I stood before Hunter, looking completely flabbergasted while he stared back at me with more or less the same expression. Finally, he spat on the ground and laughed: a weird hoarse laugh that didn’t bode well.

  “I still can’t believe you did that. It was my own fault. Your initial hapless attacks lulled me into a false sense of security. And I did reckon on you pulling something like that out of the bag! But I didn’t expect it until the very last.”

  You’ve taken the first step toward acquiring the Tactics ability.

  His clothes had disappeared: he must have put them away into his inventory. I was faced with a sinewy body covered in a multitude of scars. Some of them seemed to overlap each other; yet more started where the old ones stopped, while some were so old they seemed to merge into the skin. Amid this map of painful trials and tribulations, a new wound stood out bright and straight: one of my own hand.

  Hunter produced a small round tube, apparently fabricated within the game. He squeezed some ointment out and began rubbing it into the wound. A familiar scent spread through the air.

  “Elufrian ointment?” I said, just to show off my knowledge.

  “Yes. Come closer,” he said as he finished his treatment and reappeared fully clothed. He produced a huge handful of dust and transformed it into a dark purple crystal. “This is Mantle. That was our agreement, wasn’t it?”

  The crystal crumbled to ashes in the palm of my hand. Impatient, I immediately checked the spell tab.

  Mantle. A one-time spell absorbing all non-magic damage dealt by any throwing weapons, firearms or any close combat weapons.

  Cost of use: 100 pt. mana. Duration: 60 min

  This must have been the most useful spell of all that I’d lately acquired. I closed my eyes, exhaled and started casting it. I had to spread my hands to the sides, then cross my arms... then turn my palms toward me and touch my chest...

  Visually, nothing had changed. Only my ears became blocked as if through a change in air pressure.

  “Did it work?” I asked Hunter.

  “Yep,” he nodded, drew his familiar handgun and fired at me.

  It all happened so quickly that I didn’t even manage to scream. I just froze there open-mouthed as a tiny dark fleck bounced off some invisible barrier and dropped into the snow. Only then did I realize it was a bullet.

  “Holy cow,” I gasped. “Please don’t do that again. I very nearly became a couple of pounds lighter. I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “It took me three attempts to disable your Mantle even though I could see that the first two tries had been registered. How is that possible?”

  “Because you can cast Mantle as many times as you want, provided you have enough mana. Look.”

  He started making the same gestures as I had only a minute ago. The difference was, he kept repeating them time and again. I counted six in total. Then he handed me the gun and stepped away. “Fire it.”

  I knew he was safe. I’d just seen a bullet glance off my own shield. But still my hands shook. I had yet to become a real Seeker, my excessive humanity still standing in the way. I lingered, plucking up the courage, then took a deep breath and fired.

  The gun thundered. My hand jumped from the recoil. Despite the proximity of the target, I’d very nearly missed.

  “Again!”

  Bang, bang, bang, bang. Hunter didn’t budge an inch as the shields fell off him one after another. He just stood there with a faint smile on his lips.

  I lowered the gun and wiped away the sweat which had formed on my brow.

  “Any more questions?”

  “Yes. What’s gonna happen next time I wound you?”

  He chuckled and stretched out his arm in front of him. The already-familiar cat o’ nine tails appeared in it. He made a sarcastic gesture, beckoning me.

  The Seeker is inviting you to compete Until First Blood...

  * * *

  Predictably, the remainder of the t
raining session was quite boring. I was getting my ass kicked. What did I have to offer against a battle-seasoned warrior once I’d run out of both time rewinds and mana? Also, Hunter was much more cautious now than he used to be.

  I ambled home with all the grace of a whooped cur. Bumpkin was still flat out, which put a lid on all my hopes for another dose of his magic elixir. Overcoming pain like a newbie masochist after his first orgy, I rummaged around for a needle and cotton and began fixing my ruined trousers. My handiwork wasn’t as perfect as Bumpkin’s but still quite passable. It’s common knowledge that bachelors are quite good with a needle and thread: they’re basically tailors, chefs and chambermaids all rolled into one. Not because they really want to be, but simply because that’s what life has thrown at them.